


too much i can't say (i love you)

by ishippeditovernight (sonofabitch_awesome)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean Has Nightmares, Dream Cas, Grieving Dean, Heavy Angst, I'm Sorry, I'm actually trying to spoil this thing in the tags, Inspired by Music, M/M, Nightmares, Post-Episode: s12e23 All Along the Watchtower, Why Did I Write This?, because I feel like reading it and then having the rug yanked out from under you hurts more, so forewarned is forearmed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-17
Updated: 2017-09-17
Packaged: 2018-12-30 16:32:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12112728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sonofabitch_awesome/pseuds/ishippeditovernight
Summary: AAAAAUUUGGGHHHH WHAT DID I DO THIS FOR. SOMEONE SEND ME TO THE CORNER FOR THISlike i said in the tags, I feel like going into this blind is more dangerous and painful than being spoiled, so: Dean dreams Cas is back (but he really isn't). :( :( :( There's a ~convincing explanation~ even, but it's just a dream.This was inspired by Sarah McLachlan's song "I Love You." brb crying again





	too much i can't say (i love you)

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, I am so sorry for this one. :`(
> 
> Also, re: songs and such-- this time around I forced myself to _not_ write it as a songfic with the lyrics all included in the story and with the story bent around them. The format wasn't working anyway with the length of the sections. But you can see where I was considering it; I left in the hyphens dividing it into breaks where I would have thrown in stanzas/choruses later. I didn't take them out and sew up the separate bits because I'm lazy :p
> 
> The lyrics can be found [here](https://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/sarahmclachlan/iloveyou.html), and the song is on youtube [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GYC9N4fVd6g).

Everything was awful.

That was a relative term, Dean supposed as he trudged down the road aimlessly, hands in his pockets and gaze sweeping across the gravel, dirt, and occasional pieces of litter thrown from cars earlier in the day. Quite often, their lives cruised comfortably in that “everything is shitty” area and dipped occasionally into “nothing will ever be okay again.” Or maybe if you had a microscope, you could examine the minuscule bits of time where life zipped lightning-fast into “hey this isn't so bad” territory, then back out just as quickly.

He sighed. But _this_ time...

Dean had thought they knew what the definition of the word “alone” was before. But good God. It was one thing to know it so intimately (along with the word “misery”) and one thing to _become_ it this way.

Crowley, Mom, Cas... Everybody, basically. It was devastating. _Understatement_ , he thought, scoffing at himself as he walked along, kicking a fallen branch piece out of his path. It flew off into the ditch.

_ Where's a good fucking storm when you need one? _ He cast his eyes up to the sky, but it was the same as it had been earlier: bruise-blue-black overcast clouds, heavy enough to rain but not the slightest drop the entire time he'd been out here.

The reason he was walking in the first place was-- he wasn't sure. Nothing was wrong with his car. It was an impulse that hit him. Something to do besides lie awake for hours waiting through the insomnia, or enduring nightmares or whatever. So here he was, three AM, wandering down some street far from the Bunker.

He'd been walking for a couple of hours. Still waiting on the rain.

Dean looked up at the road ahead of him. Surprisingly, there was somebody else out, it appeared. He frowned. Narrowed his eyes. Was that a person or a post or something?

As he watched, he could see movement. It was a person, then. And they were heading in his direction. Dean's hand automatically flitted back to check his gun to ensure it was still there in case of trouble, but he wasn't really concerned.

That struck him as odd. Why the calm? For all he knew this was some sort of monster casually sauntering down, and the reason they weren't making a break for him yet was to keep him in that relaxed state of mind until the last second.

But somehow he didn't think so.

Again, odd.

It was a few more minutes before the figure came close enough for Dean's eyes widen and for him to understand why he hadn't been worried before: the person was wearing a trench coat. They were far too far away for him to make out even the color at this distance, but the length of it was definitely familiar in a way Dean would never be able to tear from his mind.

_ This is impossible, _ he thought, _impossible. C--_ He couldn't even finish the name in his mind.

Like the rift carved through reality that night, though, memories were slicing their way into his conscious mind: Cas's eyes, wide with shock, the black sky above them that Dean had stared up at and prayed to until he lost his voice and hadn't been able to speak for days, the-- the w--

_ Stop, stop,  _ “Stop stop stop,” he said, speaking his thoughts out loud in a desperate attempt to force everything back. “Stop. Stop.” Dean shuddered in a breath and kept walking.

It couldn't be him. He knew it couldn't be.

He threw his gaze back to the ground and kept walking. Inanely he started trying to list things, fill the space in his thoughts with any sort of static to block out the memories. City names in Kansas. City and town names where he and Sam or all three of them had been on hunts. In alphabetical order. When that failed, he tried to remember country names. Things he'd eaten in the last few days.

It was a few minutes more before Dean dared to lift his chin and take another look.

_ No fucking way. _

It was. It-- there was no possible way on Earth, Heaven, or Hell this could be true, but it was. It really was Cas. Sure as fuck looked like him anyway. And even from the couple blocks or so between them, Dean knew it wasn't Jimmy, if Jimmy had somehow been brought back.

He swallowed through the lump in his throat and fought down the urge to race ahead. Just because it really, really, really looked like this was Cas-- Didn't mean it couldn't be a trap. Didn't mean it couldn't be someone else.

More memories came back to him: alternate Bobby, versus their own Bobby. How alike they'd seemed. How different they were.

He couldn't begin to examine the memories of Cas's d-- of _that moment_ , but it occurred to him: _what if that hadn't been their version of Cas? What if it had been alternate Cas and theirs was okay?_ If _his_ Cas was okay?

There was an intersection coming up, and as they both continued walking toward each other, Dean found himself grinning stupidly, a ridiculous smile he couldn't begin to get off his face. _Be careful_ , he admonished himself, but couldn't help but hope anyway.

Whoever this was ( _oh God, please let it be Cas for real_ ), he sure as hell walked like and looked like Cas. He had that same confused squint going on as he looked around the area while he walked; his hair was the same; even the replacement tie Cas had gotten a couple years ago was identical.

He finally looked directly at Dean.

Dean couldn't breathe. He practically bit off his own tongue in shock as they met face-to-face under a stoplight, standing right in the road. “Cas.”

“Yes, Dean,” he said. “It's me.”

-

All he could focus on was Cas. Cas, Cas, Cas, he couldn't stop thinking his name now, couldn't stop looking at him, burning his features into memory. A car could head their way now and Dean would never hear it and be taken out right here and now, but he didn't care.

“... _How?_ ” he finally demanded, right fist yanking forward to grab onto the lapel of Cas's coat. The same material. _Oh, God, please let this not be a trick,_ he prayed. He wasn't sure to who.

Cas took a deep breath. “I was-- I was stuck in the alternate world for some time, Dean,” he said. “When I went in there again, I was accosted. And, my, my alternate version--”

Dean sighed, letting go of Cas's coat. The tension of the last few weeks left him, and he felt tears spring to his eyes. “Oh, my god, am I glad to see you,” he said, trying and failing to sound more stable than he really felt.

“Same here, Dean,” Cas smiled. “I've missed you too.”

And it was that, the sight of his awkward little grin, that broke Dean and sent the tears falling. “Shit,” he muttered, swiping at them, shoving his palms over his face. “Shit, sorry, I don't mean to be all--”

“You're fine,” Cas said, chuckling softly. “I'm-- I've also been emotional since I've been back.”

So many thoughts were slamming together in Dean's mind that he couldn't speak for a few minutes. _I'm so sorry,_ he wanted to say. _I haven't been the same since that night,_ he didn't want to say. _Sam dragged me to a therapist,_ he rejected. _I didn't know how much I--_

Just those three words. Those would be good. “I--”

But he faltered, choked up, emotion clogging the words and preventing further speech. Merely breathing was difficult. Talking felt like a complication entirely.

Cas looked at him so warmly and _lovingly_ that Dean felt like there had been no terrible event at all. “You're okay,” he said, one hand on Dean's arm. “You'll be okay, Dean.” He laughed gently, amused at Dean's inability to speak.

Now that Cas was here, and now that Dean knew he was okay, he felt safe enough to peek back at the memories of what had happened. He steeled himself mentally, took a deep breath. And in fast intervals, never dwelling for long on the image in his head, he remembered.

The boots. The boots had been different.

And the tie. He hadn't noticed at the time-- there hadn't been _time_ to-- but it was black. Not his Cas's.

And now that he let himself remember-- did that version of Cas even speak? Did he know he wouldn't be able to copy Cas's voice exactly?

“I'm here, Dean,” Cas said now, tightening his hold on Dean's arm. “Relax. Breathe.”

Dean realized his forehead was clenched tight as he explored the memory. He opened his eyes and looked at Cas in wonder. “So-- so-- you're... you're really Cas?”

“I'm really Cas.” Another adorable dorky smile.

Let that car hit Dean. He didn't care about anything else right now.

-

As they stood there, it occurred to Dean that Cas looked worried, or troubled, or something. “Cas-- What's wrong? Are you-- are you okay?”

“I'm fine,” Cas said, but the lines of stress didn't leave his forehead or eyes. He was anxious about something.

“Bullshit. No, you're not.” Dean rested one hand on Cas's shoulder. “Whatever it is, we'll get you through it. Or, you know, something after you-- we'll take it out. You're not alone, you hear that?”

Cas stared back at him thoughtfully. “I'm not,” he said. He shut his eyes and took a slow breath, steeling himself. “But... But, Dean--”

“It's all right.” Dean couldn't resist anymore and threw his arms around Cas, maybe a little too roughly, but he couldn't really help it now. _God_ , it felt amazing to have him back here, to have Cas back in his arms. “It's all right, Cas. It'll be okay.”

He shut his eyes, practically shaking with a combination of relief that Cas was back and terror at what he didn't know. “It'll be okay,” he said again. “It's okay. It'll be all right.”

Cas held onto him too, but Dean could tell he was shaking his head. “No. No, it won't, Dean.”

“We'll fix it, whatever it is, Cas, we'll--”

“I'm so sorry, Dean. I'm so sorry--”

He held on tighter, and so did Cas.

-

Memories drifted back to Dean, bubbles bursting into his consciousness.

Saying goodbye to Cas after they'd gotten Sam freed from Lucifer's cage-- _not knowing what Cas had done to himself_ if it meant defeating Amara. God, if only Dean had known.

And later, when Lucifer had been thrown from Cas's vessel, finally leaving him alone to recover the damage done-- Dean had been there and _goddammit he should have said it then_ and hadn't.

_ So say it now, _ he ordered himself. _Stop being such a wimp. Come on. Three words, dammit!_

He managed to get his mouth open. Actual words took a second to formulate, but then there they were. “Cas-- I, uh. Cas. I...”

That was it. He couldn't manage them. Not quite yet.

_ There will be time later, _ he reassured himself. Thank God, there would be time later. So he continued to hold on, as if physically holding onto the thought of “later” and “there will be time” like they were lifelines. Cas held back just as tightly.

And then-- wait, what was going on?-- Cas was extricating himself from the embrace, letting go. “I'm sorry,” he said again. “I'm-- Dean, I'm sorry.”

“No, wait.” Dean shook his head. “What's going on? Please. Tell me. Talk to me.”

Cas gave him an agonizingly sorrowful look as he took a step back. “I can't. I can't. I'm sorry.” He started leaving, down one of the roads that neither he nor Dean had walked before. He kept watching over his shoulder for a few paces, and then he turned away.

“No. No-- No, Cas! You can't j--” Dean started after him, finally breaking out of his shock. As he prepared to race and catch up to him, Dean heard a noise coming from the other direction.

The car whose possibility he'd briefly considered earlier. He whipped his head around to see it, a gray one about three blocks away right then, in no huge hurry but definitely heading their way.

Dean spun back around. “Cas, there's a c--”

He froze.

Cas was gone.

_ What? _

Dean jerked his head from one side of the road where Cas had been to the other, but on both sides were empty fields and there was no sign anywhere. “Cas? What the hell? Where are you?”

He remembered the car, suddenly. Dean turned, again, looking for it--

It was gone too.

_ What the hell? _ He shook his head in irritated confusion and started running in the direction where he'd last seen Cas. “Hey. Cas. Cas! Come back! Cas!”

-

“Come back! Cas! _Cas!_ ” he was calling, yelling, shouting so loud his throat hurt, and then there were hands on his shoulder and arm, shaking, “Cas!” he called again, how could he not _hear_ Dean? Why had he just zipped back up to Heaven? Since when was that happening again, and what the hell was going on there anyway that he was able to leave like that?

“Dean--”

“No, you get the fuck back he-ere!” he yelled, his voice breaking on the last word. “Cas!”

“Dean, he's _gone!_ Wake up!”

Wait.

He stopped screaming and finally registered that the hands shaking him back to-- _No. No, God, no!_ \-- reality were those of his brother's, and he was in bed.

It was-- it was a dream.

Dean stared in shock at no spot in particular, locked onto the vacant air, unable to speak.

He'd been dreaming.

Cas wasn't really okay.

That figure... The alternative version that had been killed...

... _really_ had been--

_ No. No, no, no, _ he thought, choking on the very notion. He struggled to pull air into his lungs.

“Dean, I'm sorry,” Sam said, gentler now as he took a seat in the chair at the other end of the room. He swallowed hard and wiped a hand over his face. “I couldn't get you awake. I think I was trying for ten minutes there.”

Dean couldn't look at him. He felt like he was in shock again.

_ “It's okay. It'll be all right.” _

_ “No. No, it won't, Dean.” _

Even Dean's subconscious mind had known, had tried to warn him. He shivered convulsively, cold now, the sheets and his T-shirt and shorts soaked in sweat.

Sam sat quietly for a moment. “I'm really sorry,” he said after a few minutes. He didn't look any happier than Dean felt. “I know it's rough.”

He couldn't know the half of it.

“Dean, you know you have that prescription for-- for the sleep thing,” Sam began. “I'm-- I'm worried.”

Dean moved his head slowly, side to side, finally attempting communication but still unable to speak yet. No. He didn't want to take them. He didn't want the pills. He didn't want anything that would make this easier.

Eventually, another emotion managed to break into the grief and shock. Guilt. Here he was ruining Sam's sleep by crying out in his sleep yet again, and his poor brother was probably going to camp out like a damn nurse all night long until Dean either spoke to kick him out or until he fell back asleep.

Sam was mourning Cas, too, Dean couldn't forget.

He unlocked his jaw. “I—I'm sorry,” he muttered. He took a deep breath. “I'm-- I'll be okay. You can go back to bed.”

His brother crossed his arms. “I don't know. You were pretty hard to wake up this time. I'm worried.”

Dean stood up and started pulling the blankets off his bed. “Guess it doesn't matter. You can stay if you want, but I'm only gonna change these. You don't have to babysit me doing chores.”

Sam stayed there the whole time anyway, and he helped change the sheets so it was done faster. When the bed was made again, Dean ran his fingers through his sweaty hair. “Really. I'll-- it's fine. You need your sleep, too. Sorry for-- well, sorry.”

“It's nothing, Dean,” Sam said. “All right. I'm going back to bed. See you in the morning.” At the door, though, he turned back. “Hey, Dean? He wouldn't want you torturing yourself this way. You know that.”

And then he was gone, turning the light back off as he left.

Dean got back into bed and stared at the drawer where he had the prescription from his new doctor. It didn't matter what Sam said, what anyone said. He knew he deserved this.

-

He hadn't realized in time that Lucifer wouldn't let Cas get away. And he should have. He hadn't stayed behind with Cas in the alternate dimension before Cas let go of all reason and went after Lucifer-- and he should have. He hadn't been able to stop his mother from falling into the alternate dimension at the very last second, and he should have.

Everything he'd ever done, he'd failed.

A tearing sound split the night and Dean looked down to see he'd been clutching the sheets so hard they'd ripped between his clenched fists. He could have laughed; he was so tense it wouldn't be surprising if he cracked a tooth.

_ I really need you back here, _ he thought, thinking of both Cas and his mother.

That dream had been more of a torment than the actual nightmares he usually had. He swallowed thickly, remembering how realistic it felt and the painful edge of the relief, the _this is really Cas_ he'd felt only to be crushed under the heavy weight of reality as he was shaken back to consciousness.

Damn it. _Dammit!_

The reality of Cas's-- of what had happened to Cas-- was seeping into him all over again. It hurt even more this time after the dream. After having had a realistic explanation of what had happened, a way that Cas could be back... Only to have the floor pulled out from under his feet--

He had trouble breathing again.

-

As he lied there, waiting to fall back asleep (if he ever would), he started remembering all the times he'd so easily had the chance to _fucking say it_ and hadn't. Because he was a coward. Because surely there would always be another chance.

When Cas had been fatally wounded by Michael's Lance, and he'd... _he'd_ been able to say it... Dean hadn't been able to. He'd wanted to. God, how he'd wanted to. But his words were frozen, and they wouldn't come out, no matter how badly he wanted Cas to know he felt the same. That he loved him, too.

And then, afterward, when Cas was miraculously healed (thanks, Crowley, and dammit, another loss he wished they'd been able to prevent)... It was still difficult to talk, but in a different way; he'd felt too awkward. It would be in the way. He had time.

The crypt, when he'd managed to break through Naomi's programming. He'd almost said it then. He'd tried so hard, but he couldn't. The closest he could get was “I need you,” and thank God that was enough.

But it was okay, he remembered thinking, even as they stood there with the tablet, moments before Cas vanished. It was okay, because Dean had time.

Sitting at the bar together the same night Sam was attempting that third trial. It would have been so easy. It was too easy. And that was why Dean didn't say it then. He knew what Cas was setting out to do soon, and he didn't want to lay the words out on the bar in front of them and give even the smallest reason for Cas to rethink what he felt he needed to do. It wasn't Dean's place.

Over and over again. Over and over, excuses, stupid reasons, always some way that he couldn't or simply didn't say the simplest, easiest three little words on the planet.

_ And I never learned from any of them,  _ Dean thought, gripping his head in his hands mournfully. _Always kept putting it off every single time..._

-

He rolled over and stared at the ceiling, crossing his arms over the rip in the blanket. _I can't let it end this way,_ he thought. _I can't._

Dean didn't know what he was going to do. Honestly, he wasn't even sure if there was anything that he _could_ do. But he refused to simply accept what had happened.

There was no way he could live through another nightmare like he'd had to endure.

He exhaled heavily, still staring up at the ceiling. “This isn't over,” he vowed. “You hear me, Cas? Wherever the fuck you are? This ain't over.” It didn't matter that he had no idea what to do right now. It didn't matter that he might not be able to do anything. Yet. He'd fucking find a way.

“We'll get you back, Cas,” Dean said, swearing it with all his strength. “Just like we'll get Mom back. _I'll_ get you back. Huh? So hold tight, there.” He swallowed back the regret, the previous self-consciousness, the last obstacles keeping the words within. “I-- I love you. And you're coming back. No matter what.”

Turning back over, he closed his eyes, still cold and anxious for the morning to come.


End file.
